


Before a Full Moon

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assault, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cannibalism, Crowley is a Vampire, Dirty Talk, Dismemberment, Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Fingernail Horror, Full Moon, Full Shift Werewolves, Graphic Description, Hand Jobs, Knotting, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Mutilation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex with Sentient Animals, Sexual Assault, Switch Gabriel (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Torture, Vampires, Violence, Werewolves, gabriel is a werewolf, teeth pulling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24735385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: With the coming of the full moon, preparations need to be made. It's a bit of a hunt, but the hunt has enough for everyone to enjoy. Crowley is willing to do whatever he needs to ensure Gabriel will have a successful andfuntransformation. He's willing to make sure that he's fed, too.Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Rape and Violence; Please mind the tags
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 37





	Before a Full Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This was quite a wild prompt to work with. It was something new, and I'm always willing to try something once. The world building was a lot of fun.
> 
> Really, please do mind the tags if you want to venture forward. It's pretty graphic.

Crowley was sipping coffee outside at a cute little local shop. Above him was an umbrella, doing nothing to help hide him from the sun, and at his feet was one massive dog. He told people that the dog was some mutt he’d picked up at a shelter several years back. That wasn’t even half the story. It wasn’t the story at all. Crowley had never set foot in an animal shelter, first of all, and his _mutt_ wasn’t even a mutt, at all.

Gabriel was a wolf. Gabriel wasn’t just a wolf, but he was a _wolf_. A werewolf. A strong werewolf with the ability to transform at will, which made the perfect disguise for these little ventures into town. Gabriel looked the part of a wolf, but they’d both found how stupid mortals had gotten over the years. Everyone believed he was just this beautiful, burly dog. They blended right in, with just the right amount of attention that their job was particularly simple.

They always went for the people who were interested. Men, women—anyone. They weren’t picky; neither of them was. In fact, the first night they’d met had been some night at a seedy tavern in seventeenth century Scotland. Crowley had his hands halfway up some wench’s skirt when Gabriel came into town, looking at fine as he did. They’d known each other, instantly—two supernatural creatures in the same space never ended well, historically speaking. It hadn’t ended well. It’d ended perfectly.

Centuries later, they were inseparable. Gabriel provided Crowley with the one thing every vampire needed—a fresh supply of blood. And it was good blood. Gabriel tasted like the finest wine, the sweetest honey, and smelled like lilacs. In return, Crowley went _shopping_ , every now and again. It was always right before the full moon, which sparked a transformation that Gabriel couldn’t control. He was _wild_ on those nights, and they had to make preparations. Gabriel had a routine, and Crowley was certainly happy to help.

When Gabriel’s ears perked forward, Crowley knew they’d found just what they’d come down here for. He smirked and downed the rest of his sweet coffee drink before uncrossing his legs and letting go of Gabriel’s leash. It was just so they could look the part, but that wasn’t to say it didn’t see some other uses every now and again.

“Go on,” Crowley muttered. “Sick.”

He knew exactly who Gabriel had his eye on; he’d had his eye on the same man. This was a part of the plan. Part two of shopping was Crowley working his charm with batted eyelashes and a bit of unmatched vampiric power. They couldn’t do that without a carefully constructed way for Crowley to _meet_ the man they were eying. Now that Gabriel was suddenly a dog, loose from his owner’s hold, everything fell right into place as he shot off from the ground.

Crowley’s demeanor changed in the following second. That second head start was all the time it took for Gabriel to make his way through the small crowd and over to where the man was standing, looking like quite a fresh _meal_ if either of them were to be honest. Plump, blond hair, and looking quite like someone with an overabundance of kindness to share. The perfect fool. Gabriel dashed right to him, causing no issues until he was suddenly bumping right into the man, spilling his coffee. Crowley was just a step behind.

“Oh—no, I’m so sorry!” Crowley cried. “Bad dog—bad, you know better than that.” Crowley scrambled to grab for Gabriel, dropping down to his knee like he meant to keep a dog under control.

The man had just gasped and turned around. “Oh! Please, don’t worry, it’s fine—I’m a bit clumsy,” came his excuse. The man laughed as he looked down at himself. His pristine white waistcoat was covered in coffee. Crowley had to contain himself. There was no time for smirking and grinning for a job well done. He had a part to play.

“I’m so sorry,” Crowley said. “He’s usually not like this. Can I at least pay for your dry cleaning?”

“Why, I don’t even know your name, and it really was quite an accident. I wouldn’t—”

“It’s Crowley.” Crowley offered his hand as he stood up.

“Aziraphale.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and shook it firmly. “And your lovely companion here?”

Crowley had to hide a smirk. “Gabriel,” he said. “Quite the mutt, isn’t it? He’s usually not so troublesome.”

“It’s fine, I assure you. He’s quite lovely; I couldn’t hold it against him even if I tried.” Aziraphale laughed. “You don’t need to pay for dry cleaning, either. I’ve hundreds of these things.”

“A one outfit sort of man, hm?” Crowley grinned. “I like that.”

He didn’t miss the sudden red through Aziraphale’s cheeks. Crowley hadn’t even had to do anything, and Aziraphale was already enamored. It was easy, and Crowley liked when the humans were easy. Still, he couldn’t help the quick dip in his sunglasses. Just the briefest second of eye-contact, and Aziraphale would be had. Welcomed across a barrier from which he could not return.

“My,” Aziraphale hummed. “You’re rather forward.”

Crowley shrugged. “I find it gets me what I want. Why beat around the bush, you know? Not often you meet someone worth meeting.”

Aziraphale couldn’t contain his smile. Oh, he was flattered. He was taken.

“Can I buy you dinner, then?” Crowley asked, as if to demonstrate his rather forward methods of seduction.

“Dinner! My, my.” Aziraphale laughed into his hand. “We’ve only just met.”

“No way to get to know each other faster. Come on, we can have it my place. I’ve got this cute little cottage down south. You’ll love it.”

“I have always been a fan of country living. I suppose, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Tomorrow night,” Crowley said, handing Aziraphale over a little piece of paper with the address scribbled on it. Aziraphale didn’t have the mind left to ask why Crowley just carried around papers with his address written on them, because he didn’t care. All he cared about, now, was getting to that house and enjoying a lovely night with someone he believed was so interested in him that he couldn’t keep himself under control. Aziraphale was flattered, and that was just how Crowley wanted him.

Aziraphale walked away, then, with newfound focus in getting himself cleaned up. Crowley returned his attention back to Gabriel, kneeling down beside him and ruffling his fur.

“Nice pick,” Crowley muttered. “Ready to head home?”

Gabriel bumped his nose into Crowley’s cheek. An affirmative.

Once through the door of their quaint little cottage, Gabriel was a man again. He strutted naked, right through the house, as he craned his neck from side to side to crack the joints. Crowley followed close behind, keeping his eyes at a respectable level—watching the muscles in Gabriel’s back flex themselves all back into place. He followed Gabriel through the hall and to the left, where their bedroom was. There, Gabriel grabbed a robe hanging from one of the bedposts and slipped it on.

He stopped, turned, and in a practiced dance, they were wrapped up in each other in the next second. They kissed, briefly, before Gabriel bent his head and rested his forehead on Crowley’s shoulder. He let out a shuddering breath, digging his fingers into Crowley’s sides, into the fabric of his jacket. In return, Crowley had a firm arm around his shoulders and a hand carding through his hair.

“You can’t be here when he comes over,” Crowley muttered. “You got a plan?”

Gabriel shook his head as best he could. “Not much of one. I don’t want to go far with only a few days left.”

“Don’t go far, then,” Crowley suggested. He pulled Gabriel back to look at his face, stroking down the crest of his cheek. “I’ll even let you have first go, okay?” Crowley smirked.

Gabriel sucked in a deep breath, grinning. He leaned in close enough that their lips nearly touched. “Might not be anything left for you, at that point.”

Crowley hummed. “You know I like sloppy seconds.” Then, they kissed. It was fast and hard, messy with tongue and spit the harder they pressed against each other.

As much as they wanted to continue, they didn’t have the time. It was with reluctance that they pulled apart, taking one short moment to just _look_ at each other. Then, as Gabriel stepped back with a devilish little wink, he dropped his robe. Crowley’s eyes dropped in the same second that Gabriel did, back on four legs in the body of a wolf. Crowley just frowned. Gabriel couldn’t exactly smirk in this form, but Crowley certainly thought he did.

“You like that form so much maybe I’ll just _fuck_ it next time,” Crowley shouted after him. He gawked like some right-addled idiot when he watched Gabriel flip his tail up before turning the corner. Crowley frowned in the next second. “Fucking mangy mutt,” he grumbled, but he got to work.

There was a lot to be done before Aziraphale’s arrival. While Gabriel went and found himself some cool patch of dirt outside to lie in, Crowley hopped in the shower. He needed to look presentable. He showered, brushed his teeth, and stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment. He had contacts, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to need them for this particular date. Aziraphale hadn’t exactly minded the strange look of his eyes. He could skip that.

Crowley waltzed back out into the bedroom and went straight for the closet. He picked out his finest outfit—a silken maroon shirt with a dark washed pair of jeans. Over that, he slipped his finest sports jacket. After a brief moment to admire himself in the mirror, Crowley stepped down the hall and back into the main area. He didn’t need to prepare dinner. For all intents and purposes, dinner was being delivered—plump and happy right to his front door. All he had to do was make sure the house was clean for the arrival.

That, and making sure everything was in place. Gabriel didn’t exactly live his life as a wolf. And he was a wolf, not a dog. Still, Aziraphale was expecting a dog. There was no telling what sort of details these humans could pick up on, so they prepared for everything. Crowley set out the things people expected to see in a house where dogs were kept. He put down a food bowl, a water bowl—which he remembered to fill, this time—and threw out a few toys. For added effect, he hung a leash up on the doorknob of the closet.

The rest of his time was spent cleaning. He had plenty of time for it, and he would make sure that everything was positively spotless. Then, while he was it, he went ahead and brewed some tea. Aziraphale seemed like a tea drinker, and that would keep him occupied long enough to not have to ask about dinner. If he did, Crowley would just move in faster than he planned. His only goal was to ensure that Aziraphale was _very_ comfortable. Once he was, everything after would fall in place.

Crowley did take one minute to peak out the back door and see if he could spot Gabriel. He didn’t blame Gabriel for wanting to be gone from the house entirely—Crowley could just say he was sleeping in the bedroom, or something, still pretending Gabriel was a dog and not days away from turning into a feral, rabid beast. That was why Gabriel needed to be away. The smell alone might be enough to set off those instincts too early, and they needed _time_. Tenderizing the meat, so to say.

Gabriel hadn’t gone too far, though. He was sitting out beneath a tree, one of the larger ones they had right at the edge of their property. Beyond was a sizable little forest, because they lived far enough out that there was more nature than people. Just as they preferred it, really. Gabriel had found a comfortable patch of grass to lay on, and he was well on his way to taking a nap. Crowley hoped the nap went well. The better rested Gabriel was in the coming days, the more fun they would have.

After that, Crowley returned to the living area just in time for the doorbell to ring. He hated their doorbell. They’d found something with the most obnoxious tone they could to ensure they would be alerted with visitors. It was rare that visitors were wanted, but this one was. He might even be the last visitor before they moved on. Crowley had thought about heading to France, next. They might even hope across the pond and see how long they could hide out in the states. It was all open to discussion.

“Welcome,” Crowley greeted as he pulled open the door. “Aziraphale—it’s good to see you. Right on time. I might have expected as such.” He held the door open as Aziraphale stepped inside.

“Oh, thank you, thank you. I do always try to be punctual.” Aziraphale grinned, awkwardly wringing his hands together.

Crowley closed the door, then pushed himself off of it, pulling off his most charming smile. There were no glasses to block his gaze, this time, which meant he’d have Aziraphale’s eyes wherever he went. He hadn’t even had to _do_ anything. Aziraphale had had a single taste of affection, of praise and attention, and he was caught before one ounce of magic had ever dripped out of Crowley’s lips.

“It’s a good trait,” Crowley said. “Do come in. I’ve made tea, if you have a taste.”

“Oh, yes! Quite. I do love tea, thank you.”

Aziraphale stepped into the house after Crowley, who motioned to the sofa. Aziraphale took a seat, hesitantly, and spent a moment looking around the house. It was beautiful, really. Just the right amount of modern mixed with rustic. Things were sleek and clean, and what wasn’t was just what Aziraphale expected to see. There was a roughed-up dog bed in the corner, a few toys sprinkled atop haphazardly. He saw the leash that Crowley had hung up. Everything seemed right in place.

When Crowley returned a second later, a teacup in hand, Aziraphale perked up. He didn’t mind that he would be drinking alone, either. When they’d bumped into each other, Crowley had been drinking coffee. His assumption could simply be that Crowley wasn’t a tea drinker, just simply in tune enough with his surroundings that he realized Aziraphale might have preferred tea for how little he cared about the coffee spill. In reality, Crowley only had been drinking the coffee because that’s what was expected. He didn’t eat, and he didn’t drink, save for the occasional wine.

“Your home is quite lovely,” Aziraphale said. “Thank you for having me—and the tea, too. Of course.” Aziraphale smiled and took the cup.

“It’s my pleasure, I assure you,” Crowley said, making his once-over glance painfully obvious. He wanted Aziraphale to _know_ he was being looked at. Sized up, like Crowley would have rather seen him naked. It made Aziraphale flush, which meant things were progressing nicely.

“Where’s Gabriel at?” Aziraphale asked, humming to himself. He took his first sip of tea and looked overcome by the flavor.

“He’s off taking a nap. You know how walks tire those old mutts out.”

“Oh, come now. You shouldn’t call him that. He was picture-perfect.”

Crowley smirked, scoffing to himself. “You don’t know the half of it. Tea good?”

“It’s quite wonderful. I would daresay you’re a master at it. What sort of tea is this?”

“Oh, it’s just green tea,” Crowley said. “I always add a bit of orange zest. You could say I’ve had time to figure out what works.”

Aziraphale grinned. Of course, what it meant was that Crowley had been making tea to lure people into his home for centuries. Aziraphale just took it to mean that Crowley was so intent on impressing, that he had taken months to master a good tea. Whatever worked to keep him happy, Crowley was happy to play with that story. He’d had plenty of practice with acting, too. Some people needed a different type of wooing.

Aziraphale was just particularly easy. He didn’t look like the type of man who’d gotten much attention over his life. He was older, definitely, but also on the chubbier side. He probably didn’t get many people like Crowley looking at him. Crowley was the epitome of _cool_ , with his glasses, his well-styled hair, and his look of choice. That, and he was tall, fit. He was the type of person that one would assume only went after other tall, fit people. Aziraphale was tall, but again, his size might have been an obstacle in his life.

Crowley neither cared nor cared to know. All he cared about was how well Aziraphale was responding. They easily fell into conversation while Aziraphale sipped at his tea. Crowley had served it hot on purpose, so Aziraphale would have to drink slow. It gave them all the time they needed to talk about things—and the more they talked, the more Aziraphale opened up.

He ran a bookshop in a district that wasn’t exactly known for its cultural heritage. When he did have customers, he had such a hard time giving up his books that he often couldn’t strike a deal, which meant bills were always tight. He didn’t have any family to speak of, and his only friends lived a good drive over. Aziraphale didn’t have a car, so they communicated through the phone, only. When they could make it up, they would, but it was a rare thing.

All Crowley heard was that no one was going to miss this strange man. There had been a few people in the past that he’d just had a pleasant evening with and then never seen them again. There were things that he looked for, and lack of relationships was always positive. It meant they could continue. It meant that, in the middle of Aziraphale talking about some book or other—Crowley wasn’t listening—Crowley got up from his chair and made a bold move to sit on the sofa, instead.

He at rather close, and Aziraphale didn’t move. His face had gone a shade darker, but he just continued to talk about his work.

“Do you read much?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not much of a reader, I admit,” Crowley said, slipping just an inch closer. “I’m more of a music person, you know? I’ve got shelves and shelves of old records I just love to listen to.”

“Oh, that does sound quite romantic. What records do you have?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, reaching up to tilt Aziraphale’s head to face him. “I’d rather talk about you,” Crowley said. “You’re so fascinating.”

“Oh, my. Do you think so? No one has ever told me that.”

“You’ve probably never met such attentive people,” Crowley mused. “You were talking about your collection?”

Aziraphale perked up, quite happy to continue rambling along. As he did, Crowley worked on moving closer. Aziraphale noticed, but he never once moved away. He was happy to get the attention, to see that Crowley was listening so intently. Crowley really seemed interested, and that just egged Aziraphale on further. He really hadn’t ever gotten this type of attention before, and he was reveling in it. Crowley’s eyes were on him and only on him. Aziraphale had never felt so _wanted_.

He knew Crowley wanted him when Crowley’s hand was on him, on his shoulder. Crowley wasn’t being subtle, but subtle never worked well on people like Aziraphale. They needed the showy, peacocking attitude to know that they were being looked at, that they _were_ wanted. Otherwise, Crowley was afraid he’d find an excuse to brush it off as idle friendship. Crowley didn’t want friendship. He didn’t want any sort of relationship at all, but it was the art of pretending that mattered.

He slid his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, and then they were pressed together from hip to knee. Aziraphale’s tea sat untouched, at this point, and Crowley could see the light tremble in his body. This was the final moment. All Crowley had to do was go in for the kill, and he could call this one successful night.

“You know,” Aziraphale said, suddenly. “You do have quite striking eyes.”

“Thanks,” Crowley replied, smiling. “So do you. Such a lovely blue. You’re like an angel,” he whispered, taking Aziraphale by the chin.

That was it. Aziraphale was caught. When Crowley leaned in, Aziraphale leaned in, too. He was fully expecting a kiss, for Crowley to use the hold on his chin to guide him right into something romantic and beautiful. Instead, Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as Crowley used that hold to yank him to the side. No kiss. Just the awful hiss of his fangs growing to an astounding length just before they sunk right into the meaty flesh of Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale didn’t even have the time to cry out before the rush knocked him right out. He went limp against Crowley, falling into him. Crowley hadn’t taken a single drop of blood, but instead injected Aziraphale with his own. It acted like venom. The perfect way to take a victim. It was meant to help with sucking the body dry, because it meant they couldn’t fight back. Crowley had no intentions of sucking Aziraphale back, and he _wanted_ there to be a bit of a fight. It was always more fun when they fought back.

When Aziraphale woke up, he did so with a jolt, like a saved scream from the moment he felt Crowley’s teeth in his neck. He remembered it all, vividly, but his surroundings were different. He wasn’t in that beautifully decorated living room, anymore. He was somewhere dark, where the only light came from wall lamps. There were no windows, and the walls were half stone, half painted paneling. Like a basement. It must have been a basement, because it was cold.

As his mind began to return to him, Aziraphale began to understand better and better the predicament he found himself in. He was naked, stark naked, and his arms were pulled taut above his head where they were chained to the headboard of the bed he was on. Chained. There were chains wound around his wrists; he could already feel the beginnings of chafing and raw skin as he tugged on his bonds. There wasn’t much room to move, though he found a way to scoot up the bed so he could sit.

Aziraphale pulled his legs up to his chest, as best he could, trying to cover himself. It was freezing down here. The only sheet on the bed was the bottom one, and even if there’d been anything to cover himself with, he didn’t think he’d be able to grab it. He was alone, shivering, and confused. Was this still the same house? Had Crowley _really_ bitten him? He could still feel the throbbing in his neck, but he couldn’t reach it to touch. On feeling alone, he knew that there had been blood from the wound that had dried against his skin, leaving him uncomfortable.

Then, Aziraphale heard a door open. Stairs creaking. Someone was coming downstairs—he was definitely in a basement. Bright lights that made it hard to see very far, but the room wasn’t large. Shelves, cabinets, nothing. All Aziraphale could focus on was the sound of creaking stairs. He couldn’t tell how many stairs, but as the creaking came closer, he could hear two sets of footsteps. His heart was racing.

“What do you think?” Crowley crooned as they came into view. “I did it up pretty just for you. I know you wanted to go first.”

Aziraphale was met with the hulking form of a man. He was just an inch or two taller than Crowley, but he was made of raw muscle. His eyes were a bright, vibrant purple, and they were wide with an unchecked hunger. That was when Aziraphale realized something haunting—this man was looking at him like he was _meat_ , not like he was a person.

“It’s perfect,” Gabriel responded, looking back to Crowley. “Are you going to stay?”

Crowley looked between Gabriel and Aziraphale, muttering it over. “If you want me to. I thought I might weed the garden, though.”

Gabriel chuckled. “Alright, go weed the garden. We have plenty of time.”

Aziraphale watched with some sickly horror as they kissed each other. He didn’t know what was about to happen to him, but with the chains and the darkness, he knew it wasn’t going to be _good_. Then, to watch these two look so in love—Aziraphale felt like he was about to vomit.

“Have a good time, Gabriel,” Crowley muttered; Aziraphale’s eyes just went wide. That was the _dog_. “Save some for me, yeah?”

Gabriel nodded, and after one quick peck to Crowley’s cheek, Crowley was off. He sent one, terrifying glance towards Aziraphale, and Aziraphale could see his eyes. His smirk. It left Aziraphale feeling cold; his heart dropped into his stomach. Those glowing, yellow eyes took whatever last sense of hope he had. Then, he was left alone with _Gabriel_. He almost wished that it were Crowley. Crowley at least didn’t look like he had much strength in his limbs. Gabriel looked like he made a living out of breaking bones.

Maybe he did.

“G-Gabriel?” Aziraphale squeaked.

Gabriel turned and looked at him, suddenly looking far less friendly than he had just a second ago. Now that Crowley was gone, Gabriel had no _reason_ to smile. Not happily, anyway. He could still offer a slight grin, sizing Aziraphale up at a glance.

“What’s going to happen to me? P-please, I—”

“Shut up,” Gabriel said. “You can fight all you want. You can stay quiet, or you can _scream_ —I don’t care. Nobody’s going to hear you, down here.” He spoke while he made his way onto the bed, keeling at the end of it. “I know what you’re thinking—Gabriel was the dog. I promise you,” Gabriel spoke lowly, leaning forward, “I’m no dog. I’m much, much worse,” he promised.

Aziraphale yelped as Gabriel took hold of him by the ankles and dragged him back down to his back. He was spread out and unable to writhe himself free. The more he struggled, the more Gabriel’s eyes lit up. He liked watching the struggle. He liked the way it made Aziraphale’s fat roll and jiggle, the way it made his short little cock bounce. Just a reminder that Aziraphale was _ripe_ , plump with _meat,_ and perfect for this little game. He would never be able to get very far, but the fear in his eyes made up for it. He wore it all right out on his sleeve.

Gabriel’s grip suddenly turned sharp, and Aziraphale yelped. It wasn’t just the hard press of fingernails, it was _claws_ digging into his ankles, and those claws were suddenly dragging up the sides of his legs. They never broke the skin, but they threatened to, especially as Gabriel took a tight grip in Aziraphale’s thighs. He dug his claws into the meat of them, squeezing and pulling them apart. Aziraphale felt exposed, but he couldn’t fight against Gabriel’s strength. Even as he tried to close his thighs, Gabriel kept them apart.

Gabriel was sizing him up. Looking at him. Taking everything in. Just the sight of Aziraphale trembling. It wasn’t just from the manhandling either—it was the fear. It was Aziraphale looking at Gabriel hunched over him and knowing he had no chance. He was overpowered. Even as he tugged at his chains, Aziraphale couldn’t even _move_ , not as Gabriel pressed his hands into his chest and kept him in place. The force of it was enough to nearly knock Aziraphale’s breath right from him.

“ _Please_!” Aziraphale cried. “Let me go, let me—” he gasped as Gabriel pressed down harder, and his breath did leave him.

Then, there were claws. Aziraphale screamed as they dug into his skin, and Gabriel pulled _down_. He left angry, red streaks in his wake as he scratched down Aziraphale’s torso, from his chest to his pelvis—there was blood, oozing out instantly, falling along the crevices and rolls of his body. Gabriel shivered as he watched it. Though Aziraphale’s vision was blurry with pain, and his mind was fogged, he could see through the spaces between them to where Gabriel’s _cock_ was hardening in his trousers.

All at once, it was terrifyingly clear what Aziraphale’s position was. It was like the pain disappeared, only to be replaced with fear. He started to shift and squirm, but that only had Gabriel’s claws biting deeper into his flesh. Once those claws let go, though, Aziraphale could feel himself just trembling.

Gabriel reached for his trousers, hands bloody, and started to undo them. His trousers were dark, but Aziraphale could still see the blood that smeared into them as he worked off his belt. The button came next, then the horribly long sound of the zipper being pulled down. Aziraphale tried to squirm away, to work through the hot bursts of pain with every movement, but once Gabriel had the zipper down, he didn’t need both hands. One came flying forward at an incredible speed, digging into Aziraphale’s thigh and yanking him down so hard that his arms yanked at his sockets, and he screamed.

“Quit you’re fucking squealing, you pig,” Gabriel spat. “Unless—” he stopped, pulling his hand away so the cold air could sweep across Aziraphale’s new wounds, “—you really think it’ll help.”

That sounded like a challenge that Aziraphale couldn’t meet, and he swallowed his whimpering cries right back down his throat. He’d seen the area he was in. Even if he could get free from these chains, where would he go? He couldn’t run fast enough to outrun _people_ , and Gabriel’s threat that he _was_ the dog—worse—just meant Aziraphale had no hope. Unless, of course, he was to suddenly expire before whatever Gabriel was about to do to him.

Gabriel didn’t even bother work his trousers down. Instead, he pulled out his cock and stroked himself. Aziraphale felt bile rise up in his throat as he watched it—Gabriel was achingly hard, dripping. Each stroke smeared more blood down his length. It was sick. It was disgusting. And there was nothing Aziraphale could do about it by bite down on his lip so hard that it started to bleed as Gabriel wrapped those bloody hands around his ankles again.

Aziraphale couldn’t help himself, he had to fight. He pulled on his chains, squirming, writing—trying to get away from Gabriel’s hard, claw-ridden touch, but he couldn’t. Gabriel just clamped down hard enough on his ankles that a jolt of pain ran up through Aziraphale’s body and had him crying out. Gabriel wrenched his thighs apart, then, before he moved closer. Aziraphale couldn’t stretch as far as Gabriel was making him, but the closer Gabriel came, the farther back he pushed Aziraphale’s legs.

Aziraphale tried to fight it, but he couldn’t. Gabriel was strong enough to push him where he wanted him and to keep him there. No matter what garbled pleas he forced out of his throat, Gabriel wasn’t listening. He was taken with something else: a primal need that Aziraphale’s screams couldn’t penetrate, couldn’t override. Gabriel’s eyes even seemed to glaze over with it, the intense need to just claim. He’d been right—whatever he was was nothing any dog could ever be.

Gabriel shifted closer, closer until the head of his cock was pressed right up against Aziraphale’s backside. Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. He could feel the blood. He could feel the oozing precum against his hole. Gabriel was achingly aroused, and Aziraphale knew just what it meant.

“No—no, please!” He shouted. “Please don’t—! I’ll do anything—anything you want—”

“I want you to keep screaming,” Gabriel bit.

Then, he pushed forward. A hand jolted down to take hold of his cock, then, to keep everything steady. Just where he wanted to go. The first breach had Aziraphale’s shrieking, shaking, trying to get away—but it never stopped. Even as Gabriel’s hips bucked, back and forth. Working just the barest inch past an impossibly tight ring of muscle and then pulling back. Then again, another inch. Again, and again until Aziraphale’s body had gone numb with the pain.

He ripped open. His body shredded to accept Gabriel inside, but he did. Oh, he did through the white-hot pain that fled through him, the blood that poured. And it happened again and again, a new rush each inch deeper Gabriel pressed. Each new inch he forced open, _ripped_ wide apart as Gabriel finally bottomed out, hips pressed together. Gabriel shuddered at the tight, wet heat around him. He couldn’t hear Aziraphale’s pained gasps, his shrieks, or his cries.

If he could, he didn’t even care. Gabriel’s head lolled back in ecstasy. The more Aziraphale writhed, the more he screamed, the tighter down he clenched around Gabriel’s cock. It sent streaks of white-hot pleasure thrumming through his spine. Gabriel let out a shuddering moan, and without even looking back down at his latest victim, his hips began rock. Every shift was just a drag of raw skin and open wounds—Aziraphale shook, wrapping his fingers around the chains that bound him.

His vision was going white with the pain, but Gabriel didn’t care. He was too wrapped up in his own pleasure; Aziraphale was so tight around him. So wet. He couldn’t keep himself contained. Every thrust was faster, rougher. Tearing at Aziraphale’s insides and jostling his entire body by force alone. Gabriel hunched over Aziraphale, bending his knees to his chest, and grabbed him by the shoulders. Aziraphale cried out in response, but what could he do? As Gabriel’s claws dug into his shoulders, drawing more blood and more red-hot pain, Aziraphale was helpless.

Gabriel pounded into him, his breath catching each time he bottomed out. Their skin slapped together, and between them—blood. Blood that spattered over Gabriel’s trousers, his shirt. Even through the heavy slap of his bollocks, Aziraphale could feel the _blood_. The ripping tension that tore through him with every thrust, every _fuck_ forward as Gabriel assaulted him. Again, and again.

Tears were pouring down Aziraphale’s face, and every thrust dragged more cries from him, more yelps and shrieks. Even as his lower half began to go numb, he could still feel the pain. Every inch of Gabriel’s cock disappearing into him again and again, ripping raw skin raw again. It was when Gabriel’s hips started to stutter that Aziraphale’s heart seized in terror. Gabriel’s claws sunk deeper into his skin, past the point of nerve and muscle and straight to bone, where Aziraphale swore he could hear the scrape.

Gabriel’s back arched as he came, his head rolling back, and his jaw dropping open in a loud moan. He’d been nothing but grunts and groans until that point, but as he came, Aziraphale could see the sick pleasure that rolled through him. His body shivered, and his muscles contracted, rippled beneath his skin. He came in thick, hot streaks, and it _burned_ against Aziraphale’s raw insides.

Then, Gabriel was ripping out. Aziraphale let out a bone-shivering cry as he did, and the sudden rush of cold air against everything just made it sting, made him so painfully aware of every ripped piece of muscle and rawed over skin. Aziraphale’s entire body was trembling, and he barely had the mind to realize that Gabriel wasn’t _done_.

“You _smell_ fresh,” Gabriel muttered. He let Aziraphale’s legs drop back down to the mattress. Aziraphale watched with unchecked terror as Gabriel started to work out of his trousers. Gabriel paid no mind to the blood—Aziraphale might have even thought he _liked_ it; how warm it must have felt as it smeared over the taut muscles of his thighs.

Gabriel crawled over top of him once his trousers were gone. He straddled around Aziraphale’s waist and reached down, grabbing the soft fat of his chest. There were claws as he squeezed, in some mock massage. Some part of Aziraphale’s body was desperate for it—how gentle it was in comparison to what he’d just gone through. He tried to ignore the way that he shivered, but he couldn’t. Even as new ribbons of skin were sliced and more blood began to pour back over his neck, Aziraphale thought this might have been as _nice_ as Gabriel got.

When Gabriel shifted forward, it was to rest his still-hard cock in the space between Aziraphale’s nice little tits. He squeezed Aziraphale around him, smearing more blood over his length as his hips started to rock, again. Aziraphale just shook his head, furiously, but with Gabriel’s entire weight on top of him, he could barely _breathe_ , let alone move away and hide. There was nowhere he could go. All he could do was feel the torturous drag of Gabriel’s cock over his raw and shredded skin.

Aziraphale wanted to gag. He wanted to vomit, right there, at the sight of Gabriel’s cockhead poking through his skin each time he thrust forward. It was red. Red with _blood_ and arousal and dripping with precum, making a mess. It was slick and disgusting, and Aziraphale wanted to be anywhere other than where he was. But it kept coming. Gabriel’s hips kept moving, fucking through Aziraphale’s skin and his oozing blood with terrifying precision. His claws dug into Aziraphale’s tits to keep them tight around his cock, a hot _slick_ hole to fuck himself through.

Gabriel’s hips began to shake, faltering faster than he had before. He looked so taken with himself—his lips were parted, his brows arched. Aziraphale hoped he was working himself through some fantasy, but Gabriel was right there with him. Every inch he moved, he knew exactly what he was doing. Fucking through raw, oozing blood and skin. The heat of it—the warmth, the smell. Gabriel’s entire body was tingling with sensation, with _pleasure_ , from the passages of his airways from scent alone to the way his toes curled into the sheets as he _squeezed_ Aziraphale’s skin around himself.

It didn’t take long after that for Gabriel to come, and it stung worse than it had inside. Aziraphale cried out as hot, thick spend spread over him, through his wounds and onto his face. He didn’t want to taste it. He didn’t want to have any part of Gabriel in his mouth, but he didn’t have a choice. Gabriel’s hand came for him, hard around his jaw where his thumb scooped the slick from his face and shoved it into his mouth. Aziraphale gagged on it, tasting Gabriel as much as he tasted the blood.

He did the only thing he could think to do—he bit down. As hard as he could, he chomped on Gabriel’s thumb. Gabriel shouted, in response, ripping his hand back. His thumb was bleeding, but that wasn’t the part Gabriel was concerned about. His pleasure turned to rage in an instant. Gabriel raised his hand and brought it down over Aziraphale’s face, hard enough to wrench his neck and make _everything_ hurt, sting. Aziraphale’ s teeth cut into the side of his mouth, and he bled. He bled, and he bled.

He tried not to look. Aziraphale tried not to watch, but Gabriel was grabbing him by the chin and forcing his head a moment later. The strength behind his hold had Aziraphale fearing for more, now, like Gabriel would shattering his skull right there. Instead, Gabriel just held him in place—forced him to _watch_ as Gabriel bent down and swiped his tongue along one of the gaping, open wounds. Aziraphale jolted and struggled—the pain was immense. White and hot and worse than anything he’d ever experienced.

Gabriel’s tongue dipped into the wound he’d made, and Aziraphale screamed. He _writhed_ to get away from it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t, and then Gabriel was pulling away with his blood covered mouth, blood dripping down from his tongue. Aziraphale hoped that was all. Hoped it was over. But Gabriel leaned down in one fell swoop and slammed their lips together. Aziraphale shrieked through the kiss, tried to struggle away, but he couldn’t. There was blood on his lips, blood in his mouth—Gabriel’s _tongue_ in his mouth. It was awful, coppery, and Aziraphale wanted anything but this.

How did he get like this? What did he do to deserve it?

When Gabriel pulled away, Aziraphale gasped for breath. Gabriel still hadn’t let go of him, and even without the hard kiss, Gabriel was still just inches away. Staring. Glaring. Aziraphale could see his eyes more clearly, and they were blown wide. Feral. Wild. Like a beast in heat and nothing less.

“You,” Gabriel growled, “will regret that.”

Aziraphale froze. Gabriel smirked, then moved away. He stood off the bed, entirely, shedding his shirt next. Aziraphale tried not to watch. He tried to close his eyes tight and wish it all away, but there were suddenly claws on his thighs, pulling him so hard to the edge of the bed that his shoulders jerked in their sockets, and Aziraphale nearly screamed. Something was going to break, dislocate—and Gabriel didn’t care. He had Aziraphale bent over the side of the bed, his open wounds dragging over the rough sheet.

The angle of the chains didn’t allow him off the bed entirely, but Gabriel didn’t care. He hiked one leg up, steadying himself with a foot on the mattress, and he mounted Aziraphale. His hole was ripped open and wet with blood—the slide was easier than it’d been the first time, but Aziraphale still cried. He shouted, shook, and writhed. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t get away. All he could do was bite down in the sheets as Gabriel tore him open all over again, the hot press of his cock.

Aziraphale tried to let it go. He tried to go anywhere but here. Back to the bookshop, maybe. He could think about the warmth of his fireplace and the smell of a good, old book. Anything was better than this. If he weren’t _here_ , it wouldn’t hurt. He went limp against the bed, hoping for the best, but it was just an excuse for Gabriel to fuck harder, to use his claws in Aziraphale’s skin to manhandle him around to just the right angle. Aziraphale heard Gabriel’s moan, and just closed his eyes as tightly as he could.

It was almost impossible to ignore Gabriel’s cock inside of him. The pain was too great. And it never stopped. Gabriel found new positions to try, new ways to _fuck_ Aziraphale in ways that made him squeal and cry. It lasted for what felt like hours, and even as Aziraphale teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, the final ticket to not having to experience this for a second more, Gabriel never pushed him over that edge. He slowed when he had to, released the claws when he could. All to keep Aziraphale awake. Aware. And in pain.

When Aziraphale woke up next, he didn’t know if it had been a day, a week, or just a couple of hours. All he knew was that he was back in the middle of the bed, his hands still bound to the headboard. This time, when he tried to shift, he couldn’t move at all. His ankles were chained now, too, to the foot of the bed. It kept him exposed and spread out, put on display like a fine piece of meat. The air was still cold, and he was still covered in open wounds. Most of them had crusted over, but there was still blood.

It hadn’t been just a bad dream, and no one was coming to save him. He was still chained up in a basement, cold, naked, and wracked with pain.

“He did quite a number on you, didn’t he?” Crowley’s voice suddenly rang out from the side. Aziraphale jolted his head to look at him, almost feeling some sense of relief that it wasn’t Gabriel again. “Look at you, aw.”

“Please,” Aziraphale spoke, but his voice was hoarse and nearly gone, “let me go.” Then, he watched with near terror as Crowley snapped a glove over his right hand.

“Why would we do that?” Crowley asked.

“ _Please_ ,” Aziraphale tried again as Crowley came closer. He had a bag with him, and that terrified Aziraphale more than Gabriel had, just on his own. “I won’t tell anyone. You can let me ago. I won’t—”

“No, no, see—I think you’ve misunderstood,” Crowley mused as he knelt down on the bed. “Did you think that Gabriel was somehow instigating this? And what, I’m just the poor scared helper?” Crowley clicked his tongue. “Shameful,” he said. “This is why we don’t make assumptions, angel.”

Crowley was fully dressed and dressed nicely in a pair of black jeans and a tight t-shirt. He even wore shoes. It made his intentions impossible to gauge as he moved up to straddle Aziraphale’s chest. Much like Gabriel, the blood didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, Aziraphale swore he saw Crowley’s pupils dilate and his eyes flash.

“I’ve got a need. Very particular, it is. Gabriel _provides_ for that need, and in turn, I provide for his. Much more particular than mine, you see.” Crowley dragged the tip of his finger from Aziraphale’s forehead, over his nose, then down to his chin. “I just want to take care of him. He’s so dear to me. He told me a few things about last night that weren’t quite up to par, you understand. I’m just here to fix everything.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he tried to fathom what that could even mean.

“You’re like a gift,” Crowley marveled as he began to dig through his bag. “I have to make sure everything is perfect before I give you away.”

“Wh-what are you going to do?” Aziraphale asked. He thought of the two of them he might have been able to convince Crowley to let him go. Crowley seemed at least _cognizant_ , not so wrapped up in whatever the hell had Gabriel that he was impossible to talk to.

“Where’s the fun in that if I just tell you?” Crowley asked. He finally found what he was looking for, and his face lit up because of it. He pulled out the most frightening pair of mechanical pliers that Aziraphale had ever seen. What followed looked even worse.

“Just know that last night was a test, and my Gabriel wasn’t happy. So,” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, “we’re here to fix you up, test you out, and make sure he _is_ happy. I’m sure you can understand. Have you ever been in love?”

Aziraphale shook his head. His eyes were latched onto that _thing_ Crowley was holding, like a giant metal claw.

“Oh, well. I suppose you can’t understand, then,” Crowley lamented. “It’s not important, though. In a couple of days, it’s not something you’ll have to worry about.” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide—were they going to kill him? “Enough talk, though. Let’s get you ready.”

The purpose of that horrifying metal claw contraption became quite apparently when Crowley worked on fitting it into Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale couldn’t fight it, either—all he could do was try to turn his head away, but that was so easily fixed with Crowley’s hand on his jaw. Crowley didn’t look like he should be as strong as he was, but one grip was enough to keep Aziraphale in just the right position. Crowley worked the contraption with one hand, and when he was done, it effectively kept Aziraphale’s mouth spread open. It didn’t take long before he was drooling.

Aziraphale couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t get away; he couldn’t shift around. All he could do was stare with wide eyes and strangled, unintelligible pleas as Crowley got to work. Gabriel apparently hadn’t left a single detail out, and Crowley hadn’t been _happy_ to hear those details. Aziraphale regretted everything the moment Crowley took hold of his front tooth with those pliers.

“It’s best if the gifts don’t bite back,” Crowley said. “I’m sure you’ll understand. It’ll be alright. It’s for the best.”

Tears began before Crowley did anything. Aziraphale tried to shake his head, tried to get away. Anything he could do, but he couldn’t do anything. He was chained down expertly, and Crowley’s hand on his head was painfully enough to keep him still.

Crowley pulled the first tooth, and Aziraphale screamed. His whole mouth ran red with blood and with _pain_ , throbbing harder with each passing second. There was no time to rest, to recover. Crowley went straight for the next one, wrenching Aziraphale’s mouth open father. Tears just streamed down Aziraphale’s face as Crowley continued. One tooth right after the other; his mouth tasted like copper, and the only time Crowley stopped was when Aziraphale choked on the blood. Then, it was right back to business.

Crowley started with the bottom row of teeth. Each one he pulled out he dropped in a little container. The clink was bone-shattering—Aziraphale, listening to his own teeth being dropped away in a container clearly meant for _storage_ , not for disposal. His whole body trembled. He cried. Crowley just shushed him as if this were something as simple as having a splinter removed. He finished the bottom row of teeth, then moved to the top. It was the same thing again. Teeth pulled, dropped in a container, and Crowley shushing the theatrics.

The worst part wasn’t even the pain. It was how Aziraphale could see a growing bulge in Crowley’s trousers, could _feel_ the way his hips jerked every now and again. Aziraphale’s first assumption that Crowley was the safer one had been wrong. Crowley was getting off on this. Every cry, every spurt of blood was just another fast jolt of pleasure through his spine, and his cock hardened.

Just like that, it was over. Crowley had pulled the last of Aziraphale’s teeth and dropped it in his container. He took painstaking care to steal the container properly and put it back in his bag. He changed his glove, and then took the time to clean Aziraphale’s mouth from the blood and the drool. He smiled the whole time, but none of it betrayed his aching erection.

“That’ll heal up nicely,” Crowley muttered to himself. He went back to digging through his bag, and the things he pulled out, only to put back in, had Aziraphale shivering.

They had done this before, and Aziraphale could see that. It was the terror of seeing a meat cleaver, the bone saw, or even just the modest sized skinning knife that had Aziraphale ready to piss himself. None of the items seemed to be what Crowley wanted by the disappointed look on his face.

“If we had more time,” Crowley said, sounding just as put out as he looked. “We had this lovely woman once. I can’t remember her name, now that I think about it, but she had just the most stunning black hair. Nice, beautiful tan skin, you know. It’d been easier to snatch her up than we thought, and she was our quest for quite some time. The _fun_ we had. It’s sad you’ll not get to experience that.”

Aziraphale let out a strangled noise. Crowley just _talked_ about it, how he’d severed her tendons so her arms were limp and useless. He never touched the legs, because they needed those for the final stage, but everything else was free range. When they kept a _guest_ for a substantial amount of time, there was a room off to the side that Crowley explained in great detail. It allowed him the luxury of doing more meticulous things without accidentally killing the guest. Accidental killings weren’t fun.

The meat wasn’t quite as fresh.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though,” Crowley assured. “There’s not enough time for anything so substantial. Oh, and don’t worry—I’m more of a dessert guy. I don’t _have_ to eat, so when I do, I can eat anything.” Crowley leaned forward, and when he grinned, Aziraphale could see the sharp point of his fangs. Fangs. Crowley had fangs. Aziraphale remembered them—Crowley had _bitten_ him. That’s how he got here in the first place.

“Gabriel did have a few requests, too, so I hope you don’t mind if we continue. He likes to think ahead, and I’m always happy to oblige him.”

Aziraphale just sobbed and shook his head, but there was nothing he could do. It was like Crowley didn’t even hear him, wrapped up too tightly in his own little world where _mutilation_ was necessary to please Gabriel. Maybe it was. If it was, Aziraphale wished he didn’t have to know. He wished he didn’t have to be witness to that sort of sick, disgusting affection. Not when it meant the next horrifying tool that Crowley pulled out. Needles and another pair of pliers with a different function.

There was no hope left. Aziraphale’s pleas and cries were lost on Crowley. It didn’t matter how loud he screamed, as Crowley sank needles right beneath his fingernails, Crowley didn’t hear him. Crowley worked diligently, like he was preparing a work of art or tending to something a lot less _alive_. He had ten needles, and one needle went beneath every fingernail before Crowley started the line of extremities again. The pain had been bad the first time, but then it was worse.

Crowley made sure the needles were pressed into the base of the nail, and then he _moved_ them. Aziraphale shrieked, his back arching in a sudden desperate need to get Crowley _off_ of him. It didn’t work. Crowley didn’t even seem to notice. The only change was the throb of his cock and the way that he licked his lips. Enough to make Aziraphale want to vomit. His whole body trembled, but it just kept coming.

When Crowley was satisfied with his work, there came the pliers, an Aziraphale knew exactly what his fate was. He closed his eyes and tried not to watch, but he couldn’t turn off his nerves. He couldn’t stop the pain as Crowley peeled away the first nail. He just ripped it right off, breaking it at the base and taking a minute to pause and watch the blood. Aziraphale screamed and he wrenched, and he screamed again, tears streaming down his face, and nothing ever once stopped.

Crowley just continued until there were no more nails to pull. Then, in some disgusting display, he leaned forward to suck one of Aziraphale’s trembling, bleeding fingers into his mouth. The way he _moaned_ had bile back in Aziraphale’s throat; he had no choice but to swallow it. To live through the feeling of Crowley’s tongue over his raw skin. Aziraphale’s body just shook and shook some more, as if an unstoppable tremble had taken hold of him. Crowley didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t even seem to care.

“To sweet,” Crowley admonished. “Nothing like my Gabriel.”

That didn’t stop him from doing it again, just to taste the blood on his tongue. Just another finger, and then he slithered down Aziraphale’s body—the rough of his jeans ripping wounds right open again as he moved. Crowley buried his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and bit him, once more. There was pain, and then there was nothing. There was even a disgusting rush of pleasure that left Aziraphale hating himself. He could feel it, his blood pouring into Crowley’s mouth, and Crowley _swallowing_ against him.

Aziraphale had only read about this in books. There was no way it was real, but it was. He retraced his steps, anything to keep his mind off the pain, and tried to imagine how he had landed himself right in a vampire’s lair. Crowley sucked at his neck until Aziraphale stated to feel the first beginnings of a fog. Then, Crowley stopped.

When he pulled back, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, not minding the wasted blood. Crowley shifted down until he was sitting between Aziraphale’s spread out thighs, and then he was searching back through the bag. Aziraphale didn’t want to know what was going to happen now—Crowley was in such a sensitive area. What was he going to do? Castrate him? Peel open the skin of his arse until he was a gaping, bloody mess? Aziraphale closed his eyes and tried not to watch. Tried not to care.

“He said I could have fun with you, if I wanted, but I’ve got better things in mind. You’re cute, you, but I don’t _fuck_ humans. I’m sure you understand.”

Aziraphale almost dared to feel relieved.

“You’re disgusting, the lot of you,” Crowley continued, and the relief vanished instantly. “Vile, filthy things. Don’t take care of yourselves. Fat and smelly. You only _wish_ I would take you, oh,” Crowley hummed, running his hands down Aziraphale’s thighs. “I’d give you the time of your life. Make you come on my cock. You’d feel so much pleasure like you’ve never had before, but you don’t _deserve_ that. You’re disgusting.”

A renewed gush of tears.

“You humans are good for one thing, though. You scream so well, react so _nicely_.” Crowley worked on changing his glove, again, and as he snapped it down, he smiled. “Gabriel has his tastes, and I respect that. You, though? I can smell it on you—that want to show me how disgusting you are. How base and vile. Oh, you’re just a common whore, waiting for her cunt to be filled and spread and open. You’ll love whatever I do to you. You’d beg for more, if you could. Shame that you can’t.”

Out of the bag came something that shouldn’t have frightened Aziraphale, but it did. It was lubricant. A clearly labeled bottle of water-based lubricant. Crowley was still wearing that glove, too, like he was too disgusted to even touch Aziraphale. Even if this was something he wanted.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale down just slightly, enough that his arms yanked in all the wrong directions, but all of his most intimate areas were easier to get to. It hurt. Aziraphale could feel the scabbing around his hole, but everything else was still raw and torn and ripped. Crowley just intended to rip it all open again. Even at the first touch of lubricant, Aziraphale didn’t feel at ease. It burned. He was tense and tight with anticipation, with _fear_ , and that just made everything worse.

He couldn’t relax. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t relax. That wasn’t enough to stop Crowley, who almost cared _less_ about what he was doing than Gabriel had. The first press of his finger, however lubricated, had Aziraphale shaking with sobs. Crowley worked fast, too, spreading lube through Aziraphale’s insides. It was a direct touch to every raw and torn piece of skin inside of him, and when Crowley pulled his finger back for more lubricant, the glove had turned red with blood.

Blood was dripping down from Aziraphale’s hole, staining the sheets all over again. Crowley just pressed two fingers inside this time, working on that first beginning stretch. Aziraphale’s cries were unabashed and strangled, gargling as he drooled and bled. He tried, hopelessly, to buck away from the feeling, but Crowley just came closer. He peeled Aziraphale’s hole open wider with his second hand, pressing his thumb into the abused and swollen skin.

Then, there were three fingers. Crowley worked diligently, spreading them out inside of Aziraphale. Every shake, every jolt Aziraphale’s body gave in response was another shock of pleasure for Crowley. His cock was positively aching, dripping into the confines of his smalls, through his trousers. He was sporting a wet spot in his jeans from how aroused he was, and it only got worse as he kept going. He dragged his nails through Aziraphale’s insides, stretching him open, watching the way it made his whole-body shiver.

“Look at you,” Crowley awed. “Just like I said—you love it. You want more of it. You _wish_ it were my cock inside of you, right now. Such a nasty little creature. Heard all of those things I said, and your cunt starts dripping.” Crowley pulled away for more lubricant and four fingers, this time, working them into Aziraphale with one smooth slide that had him gagging. “I know how disappointed you must be to know I won’t do those things to you. Maybe in another life. They say reincarnation is real, don’t they? Maybe if I find you again in a couple hundred years, I’ll _ruin_ you like you deserve.”

Aziraphale choked and sobbed. The fingers kept coming, pressed up inside of him as deep as they could go. Crowley spread them open, ripping another shriek from Aziraphale’s throat. The claw in his mouth kept him from talking, but not from screaming as the pain of being ripped wide open and raw spread through him. The lubricant served no purpose other than to make the wounds burn, and that just had Crowley moaning. Crowley’s face was red like it _was_ his cock confined in that tight, wet heat.

He was getting off on this. Every cry, every scream was another step closer to Crowley’s own orgasm. The thought disgusted Aziraphale. That’s all it took to get this freak off—to watch someone else in pain. His whole body was in pain, thrumming with it. Just when he thought there couldn’t be _more_ , Crowley’s thumb pressed against the tight rim of Aziraphale’s hole. Aziraphale wanted to scream. He wanted to beg Crowley to stop. He’d do _anything_ Crowley wanted of him. He’d take a knife over this, but there was nothing he could say.

When Crowley’s whole fist popped through, Aziraphale shrieked with tears. It ripped him open all over again, awaking every healing wound inside of him. Crowley immediately pulled back, his entire fist coming free, and then forced it forward again. Inside. Right through Aziraphale’s torn ring of muscle and lighting the pain afire all over again. It just made Crowley smile something _oddly_ affectionate as he punched his fist forward and back, forward and back. He fucked open Aziraphale’s hole on the thick of his fist. Wide, red, and _gaping_.

Aziraphale just cried. He cried and he screamed, and he writhed, but Crowley didn’t stop. Just when Aziraphale thought he might, Crowley made one more hard press of his fist, taking it slow, this time. He worked his fist back into Aziraphale, _reveling_ in every ounce of pain he caused as the wounds spread apart and more blood came dripping down. That was when Aziraphale realized that Crowley wasn’t stopping. Once his fist was back inside, he _kept_ pressing.

Aziraphale’s mind just went blank, then. He could feel every new inch of Crowley’s forearm as it worked into him. Spreading him open. _Keeping_ him open. Aziraphale could hardly muster the voice to scream, anymore. He just felt it. Every terrifying press. Every inch. The new girth inside of him. He was so ripped and so ruined that Crowley could just keep going, pressing the length of his forearm inside and then finally stopping.

“Look at you,” Crowley marveled. “Oh, the fun we could have. I’m almost sorry to see you go.” He ran his hand down Aziraphale’s stomach, feeling over the bumps and the rolls, and then pressing down in a way that had Aziraphale jolting with _pleasure_ —a sick, disgusting pleasure. Crowley knew exactly what he was doing, and it only aroused him further. He liked the way Aziraphale’s face scrunched up with the horrifying realization that he _enjoyed_ whatever it was Crowley had just done, no matter how he didn’t want it.

“You would be the _perfect_ specimen to string up and play with, but there’s something more important for you. For my Gabriel.” Crowley hummed to himself and started to work again. He shifted his arm, fucking deeper and then back, deeper again, and back. When he pressed down on the bottom of Aziraphale’s stomach, Aziraphale could feel _more_. Every inch. Every torn nerve set aflame—Crowley’s _arm_ inside of him. He was so spread open, so _ruined_. Even if he made it out of here, he’d never be the same. Crowley was making sure of that.

Crowley eventually pulled his hand away from Aziraphale’s stomach to press into his own groin, _groaning_ as he watched himself work. The red, swollen ring of muscle around his own skin. The difference in color. Aziraphale, breathless and crying. It was perfect. It was everything he could have dreamed of, and the _blood_. Oh, the blood was beautiful. Every movement just sent Aziraphale in a new rush of pain, a new rush of bleeding. Crowley reveled in it.

All he had to do was palm himself through his jeans, and he was coming. Crowley’s hips jerked and his face contorted into all sorts of raw, beautiful pleasure. Aziraphale hated the way that it looked—Crowley was _gorgeous_ , and he shouldn’t have been. He should have been monstrous and horrible and ugly, but the way he came even had Aziraphale’s cock twitching in interest, past the pain. He was disgusted with himself, but there was nothing he could do. And it all ended a second later.

Crowley ripped his arm right out and went back to work like it was clinical and impersonal. He made sure Aziraphale was chained down tightly, and then pulled another tool out of his bag. This one, he fit right up into Aziraphale’s arse until it was snuggly inside, the cold metal of it pressed right up into his sensitive skin, raw with wide open wounds. Then, it opened. Aziraphale cried out as it _kept_ opening, until Crowley was satisfied.

“Tomorrow,” Crowley said. “Gabriel will see you again. He’ll be so pleased, I bet. Please, bear with it. It’ll be over soon.”

Aziraphale just trembled and shook and sobbed. He hadn’t had any food. They didn’t give him water. The most he’d been allowed to do was to shit and piss in a box in the corner like he was a dog, and that was cleaned up efficiently. Quickly. Now, all he could do was lie here with this solid, metal thing inside of him keeping him raw and spread and _open_. He’d lie like that until Crowley’s threat came true—until Gabriel came back.

The time just melted away. Aziraphale didn’t know if he’d slept or if he hadn’t, if days had passed or only minutes. All he knew was when the door opened once again, and he heard the familiar sound of two steps of feet headed for him. Everything hurt. He hoped, in some sick way, that this part would be the end of it. If they didn’t intend to keep him around, as Crowley had made quite clear, maybe they would just kill him. Fuck him to death in their own basement and then dispose of his body.

“What do you think?” Crowley spoke first, twirling around the corner with an unchecked and inappropriate glee. “I worked hard for you.”

Gabriel stepped up from behind him, his hands in his pockets and a rather neutral look on his face. Gabriel looked hot—sweaty, really. His hair wasn’t styled as it had been, and he was wearing loose, light clothing. Something was changing, and Aziraphale didn’t want to know what it was.

“I’ll even stay and watch this time.” Crowley promised. He leaned into the wall with his arms crossed, looking at Gabriel and Gabriel alone. “I know how you like that.”

Gabriel looked at him, then at Aziraphale. His breath was raspy, like each breath was one breath closer to a growl. Something wasn’t just changing, something was _wrong_.

Crowley pushed away from the wall and ran a hand along Gabriel’s jaw, getting his attention back. Then, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. With clinical like precision, he removed the claw from Aziraphale’s mouth and the speculum from his arse. Then, as he stepped away, carefully tucking the tools back into his bag—which he’d set down on the floor, by the bed, the day before—he looked back at Gabriel.

“There,” he said. “Go on, puppy. Play with your new toy.”

Gabriel sucked in a deep breath and grabbed Crowley by the waist, pulling him close and slamming their lips together. Crowley _moaned_ into it, wrapping his arms around Gabriel’s shoulders to card his fingers through his hair. They melted against each other, molded so perfectly together that it was almost beautiful. But it was sick. It was disgusting the way they looked at each other when they pulled apart, the way Crowley so carefully cupped Gabriel’s jaw and kept their foreheads touched together.

“I can tell you’re close,” Crowley spoke. Whatever had Gabriel wasn’t letting him formulate the words to respond, but Crowley just _knew_. “I’ll take care of you. I always do. So, listen carefully.” Crowley then took a tight grip right at the back of Gabriel’s neck. “I want you to go over there—” he reached a hand down to grab Gabriel’s cock through his trousers, “—and sink this fat cock of yours down that thing’s throat. Fuck it until it chokes on you, do you hear me? Make yourself feel good.”

Gabriel let out a shuddering moan. He met Crowley in another rough kiss, nodding into it.

Aziraphale’s heart just seized. He wasn’t even a _person_ , anymore. He was a thing. A thing who was about to outlive its usefulness. He watched with terror growing in his gut as Gabriel began to tear at his own clothes, getting them off as fast as he could. Gabriel scrambled onto the bed, after that, with some unchecked desperation to do what Crowley had told him. Gabriel’s cock was already hard, impossibly thick. Aziraphale just started to cry as Gabriel peeled his mouth open.

Aziraphale choked as Gabriel sunk into his mouth, slowly. He couldn’t do anything to protect himself from it now—no biting. Just gums. Soft and harmless. Gabriel pressed right into his throat, moaning and shaking as he did, and started work his hips. He took hold of Aziraphale’s head, holding him in just the right place where the angle let him get deep, breaching Aziraphale’s throat each time he fucked forward. Aziraphale gagged and he choked, but Gabriel didn’t falter.

Beside them, Crowley only took a minute to watch before he started peeling off his own clothes. He had lubricant in his hands, again, but no gloves. When he crawled onto the bed, he straddled Aziraphale’s stomach instead of his thighs, and Aziraphale knew that lubricant wasn’t for him. If he was going to take a cock, he was going to take it dry. He tried not to focus on that, not with Gabriel’s length fucking through his throat again and again. Aziraphale’s eyes all but rolled back into his head.

Gabriel’s cock was thick, from tip to base, and there was no reprieve. Aziraphale’s lips stretched around him, his throat. Everything was open and wide, to the point where Aziraphale swore that his cheeks would rip next. Gabriel fucked his throat with no regard for anything but his own pleasure. The way Aziraphale’s throat seized around him had him moaning, had his hips twitching of their own accord and just working deeper. The only thing that slowed Gabriel was Crowley, behind him, pressed flush against so Gabriel could feel the swell of his cock.

“Such a good boy,” Crowley told him, hooking his chin over Gabriel’s shoulder to whisper in his ear. “Does it feel good?”

Gabriel nodded. Though his face suddenly went docile, his thrusts didn’t relent. Aziraphale choked and gagged around Gabriel’s girth, but it only spurred him on.

“Look at how much it likes this,” Crowley mocked. “It wants your cock, Gabriel. Wishes it even had a cunt for you to sink into, give you _everything_ you want. I know what you want,” he said.

Crowley’s fingers were dripping with lubricant, and he rubbed two of them between Gabriel’s cheeks, making him jolt. He massaged over Gabriel’s twitching hole, easing him into relaxation. Crowley wrapped his free arm around Gabriel’s chest and took such a gentle hold of his neck that it was almost _loving_.

“Yes, yes,” Crowley crooned. “You’ve been so patient for me, haven’t you? Waiting for your master to fuck you.”

Gabriel’s breath hitched as Crowley hooked a finger into him. He didn’t stop moving his own hips, fucking deeper into Aziraphale’s throat—seeking his own pleasure. As he rocked back and forth, he fucked himself farther back onto Crowley’s finger. Crowley worked his finger, too, following the rhythm Gabriel had set. He worked as quickly as he could, fucking Gabriel with his finger and spreading the lubricant inside of him. Gabriel shivered through every touch, his hips still bucking wildly.

When Crowley worked a second finger inside, Gabriel fell forward over Aziraphale. He braced himself in the pillows around Aziraphale’s head, and his hips _really_ started to move, to work deep. Aziraphale could hardly breathe, and the edges of his vision were starting to blacken. Gabriel’s face contorted with pleasure as Crowley worked him. Two fingers inside, both dripping with lubricant and stretching apart. Gabriel looked like he could fall apart from the fingers along, but with the tight constriction of Aziraphale’s throat around his cock, it would come even faster.

Crowley soothed Gabriel by rubbing along his spine, then rocked a third finger into him. Gabriel came, instantly, spurting another load of hot, thick spend straight down Aziraphale’s throat. His cock didn’t even begin to soften—if anything, Aziraphale could feel it harden against his tongue. Aziraphale’s tears renewed as he felt it—the onslaught didn’t let up. As Gabriel came, his hips only worked faster as he was desperate to have it both ways—his cock, hard and serviced with fingers inside of him, working him apart.

“Tell me when it’s not enough,” Crowley said. “Tell me when my beautiful little puppy needs more. I’ll take care of you. Give you _everything_ you need.”

Gabriel moaned in response, fucking himself back on Crowley’s fingers now more than he cared for Aziraphale’s throat. It was like they were slowly but surely forgetting Aziraphale was even there.

“ _More_ ,” Gabriel rasped. It was the only thing he could manage to say, and his voice sounded garbled and guttural. Distorted.

All at once, Crowley pulled his fingers from Gabriel and took him by the hips. He pulled Gabriel back, Gabriel’s cock leaving Aziraphale’s throat and dripping leftover spend along his chin. As they shifted, Aziraphale tried to struggle in any way he could, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing would stop what happened next, as Gabriel situated between Aziraphale’s thighs. Crowley released the ankle chains, but in the next second, Gabriel had his clawed hands shredding through Aziraphale’s meaty thighs as he pushed up those legs.

Aziraphale shook his head, begging and pleading, but the hot head of Gabriel’s cock was pressed up against his torn hole just a second later. Gabriel didn’t press forward, not with Crowley’s hands keeping his hips still.

“Me first,” Crowley whispered, leaning close enough that he could nibble on the lobe of Gabriel’s ear. One hand disappeared from Gabriel’s hip as Crowley stroked himself, slicked himself up.

Crowley moaned as he sunk forward, breaching through Gabriel’s walls in one slick movement. The _squelch_ of it. The way Gabriel’s jaw dropped open and he moaned. His eyes were blown wide, like all he could think about was Crowley, Crowley, _Crowley_ inside of him. Fucking him nice and slow, deep and purposeful.

Once Crowley’s hips were flush against Gabriel, they moved forward together. It was Crowley’s strength that pushed Gabriel forward, that had him sinking into Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s shouts were lost on them, too wrapped up in each other to even _hear_ how he shrieked. The thickness of Gabriel’s cock just ripped _everything_ right back open. It was dry, and it hurt. Everything stung, the burn was more than anything had been before. Aziraphale longed for the numbness. Longed to not be able to _feel_ any of this, but he couldn’t.

As Crowley began to thrust, the strength he put into his movement was enough to move Gabriel, too. Pull him back. Fuck him forward. Aziraphale’s throat had gone dry and hoarse, but he still tried. He cried and he shouted, and he cried more at each painful drag of Gabriel’s cock inside of him. His entire body was stuck trembling, shaking, and trying desperately to force out and intrusion. That just made him tight. It made Gabriel moan, even if he was lost in something else.

Gabriel lolled his head back to Crowley’s shoulder for the moment. Crowley’s arms were around him, and Gabriel was clutching at his arms like they were his lifeline. Crowley kissed him, fucked him, snapped his hips back and forth with just the right angle that Gabriel was trembling. Gabriel’s own hips twitched, fucked _deeper_ into Aziraphale. Aziraphale was nothing more than a glorified fleshlight. There to keep Gabriel’s cock warm while he serviced Crowley—his _master_.

“You feel so fucking good,” Crowley growled, nipping along Gabriel’s jaw. “Such a perfect little pup, you are. My Gabriel. My perfect, perfect Gabriel— _fuck._ _”_ He cried out as Gabriel clenched down around him. “Devious little shit.” Crowley’s tune changed instantly. “Not happy if I’m not railing you into the floor. You need to be kept in your place, don’t you?”

Gabriel moaned and shivered. Crowley suddenly pushed him over, taking a rough hold of his hips and slamming into him, _hard_. The force went straight through Gabriel, forcing his hips to fuck just as hard. Deeper into Aziraphale. A burning, tearing pace that had Aziraphale screaming.

“Shut that thing up,” Crowley ordered, and Gabriel moved into action, instantly.

While Gabriel was too caught up in his own pleasure to think, he could still do what he was told. His hands were suddenly around Aziraphale’s neck, claws digging into his skin, and squeezing. Aziraphale gasped as his breath was taken right from him. Lightheaded. He couldn’t focus. It was all too much, too much—

“Lighter,” Crowley ordered, and Gabriel did that, too. The sudden rush of air was short lived as Gabriel clamped down again, at Crowley’s command. Crowley would never let him pass out; he’d take Aziraphale’s air and give it right back, just enough to keep him teetering on that edge of sweet freedom, but never quite tumbling over.

Crowley fucked hard. He had an untold strength, and each time he sank back into Gabriel, the resounding slap nearly echoed through the room. It was wet and forceful, but it was exactly what Gabriel wanted. Gabriel was trembling, struggling to work his own hips. Crowley did it for him, took _care_ of him. Every thrust fucked Gabriel deeper into Aziraphale, pulled him back, forced him forward. Gabriel’s cock was encased in a tight, wet heat of blood and saliva. The pain was immense, but each time Aziraphale clenched down, it just made Gabriel moan. Made his hands tighten around Aziraphale’s neck just a little bit more.

Crowley pulled Gabriel back to meet every hard thrust. Gabriel moaned through all of it, his hips twitching and his face scrunching up. When Crowley released his hold on Gabriel’s hips, it was to run his touch all the way up Gabriel’s spine, only to grab at his shoulders and just fuck _harder_. Gabriel cried out. His back arched, and his head snapped back. His grip on Aziraphale’s throat tightened again as pleasure took him.

“Come for me,” Crowley challenged. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s what every bone in your body is telling you to do. Fuck, _breed._ You want to make this little toy your bitch, don’t you? Keep it around and fuck it like it’ll get pregnant for you. Stupid,” Crowley spat. “You’re just a dumb mutt in heat. You want to be _bred_ , don’t you?” Crowley wrenched Gabriel towards him, Gabriel’s back to his chest. Crowley kept him there with a tight grip over his chest, massaging the tight muscles and palming over his sensitive nipples.

“Such a good boy,” Crowley cooed. “Maybe someday I’ll let you find yourself a nice bitch to have babies with, but until then, you’re _my_ bitch, aren’t you? Even if you had babies with that bitch, they’d be mine, wouldn’t they? Because you’re mine. Everything you are belongs to _me_.” Crowley hissed right against his ear, and Gabriel trembled. He nodded hurriedly, struggling to form the words that he longed to say. His voice wasn’t working, and all that came out were rabid, feral growls. But Crowley understood. Crowley _knew_.

Crowley dropped a hand down to rub Gabriel’s stomach. “Everything,” he continued. “Your cock is mine. Your arse. Your spawn. Your fucking bitch-heat. Everything you are belongs to me. I’m your master.”

Gabriel came, right then. The force of Crowley’s thrusts, the force of his words, everything wound up so tightly inside of Gabriel that he was _helpless_ to come, as Crowley ghosted that first touch along his pelvis. Aziraphale screamed when it happened as a new red-hot pain rushed through him. More spend. More blood. Gabriel’s cock still dragging through him until it wasn’t—until it was yanking out of him as Crowley pulled Gabriel back with strength he shouldn’t possess.

“Get a good taste,” Crowley ordered as he pushed Gabriel down between Aziraphale’s thighs. “It won’t be long now.”

The way Gabriel lapped at Aziraphale was painfully eager. Aziraphale thought he might vomit, but he couldn’t get away from it. Gabriel licked over his bleeding, torn hole. Licked into him. Tasted himself, the blood, and it made him moan. The way it tasted on his tongue was exquisite, and with Crowley still pounding into him with renewed force, another orgasm was already burning low in Gabriel’s pelvis. His cock twitched, never quite softening.

“One day,” Crowley threatened, “I’ll bend you over so far you can suck your own cock, puppy. You can knot your mouth and stay like that until it deflates, and then you can spend the rest of your worthless heat bouncing on _my_ cock like some sort of sick, desperate little whore. You’re always so pretty when you’re desperate.”

Gabriel trembled, still licking. Still tasting. His tongue was as deep as he could get it, only deeper when Crowley fucked into him hard enough to send him pressing forward, face first into Aziraphale’s taint.

“I bet you want to knot, don’t you? Oh, I can see it. We wouldn’t want you to knot nothing, would we? No, no.” Crowley cooed like he was actually concerned.

He pulled back, leaving Gabriel whining about a sudden emptiness. Crowley shifted them both forward again, to where they’d been before, and wrapped his arms around Gabriel to guide his cock right back down into Aziraphale’s throat.

“It wants your knot, puppy,” Crowley said. “Don’t disappoint me.”

When Crowley pressed back inside, it was with a hard snap of his hips that had Gabriel crying out. He clenched down around Crowley’s cock as his next orgasm hit him, and then the base of his cock started to swell. Aziraphale’s eyes widened, but Gabriel took a hold of his hair before Aziraphale could shake away. Gabriel sunk in as deep as he could, moaning as his knot grew and grew until it caught on the edges of Aziraphale’s gums and his lips. In the next instant, he shivered again as, behind him, Crowley’s hips stuttered.

Crowley hunched over Gabriel’s back, pressing them flush together, and his fangs sunk into Gabriel’s neck as he came. Gabriel moaned at the rush of spend inside of him, and Crowley moaned from the rush of blood, from the way Gabriel’s walls spasmed around him. Crowley stayed right there until he’d finished coming, and then, he licked the wound on Gabriel’s neck until it seemed to heal, almost instantly.

Crowley snapped his hips forward just once more, jolting Gabriel deeper into Aziraphale’s throat. “I wish I could knot you,” Crowley said with awe, running his hands down the swell of Gabriel’s arse cheeks. “You’re such a good boy, you deserve to be knotted. I’ll figure it out for you, eventually. Give you a nice thick one that you can’t work out for days at a time—I bet you’d like that.”

Gabriel trembled, whimpering as he braced himself on the headboard. He was sensitive, now, coming down from a momentary high. Crowley pulled out, then, as slow as he could manage. He ducked down, pressing his face between Gabriel’s cheeks to lap at him as he dripped in spend. Crowley couldn’t resist working his tongue up that sweet little hole for just a moment. Just long enough to hear Gabriel cry out, to feel the way his body rocked with tremors.

Then, Crowley pulled back. He took only a minute to admire the sight before him before delivering a heavy, hard swat to Gabriel’s arse—enough to make the flesh bounce and tremble. Gabriel yelped, and Aziraphale choked as the whole thing forced Gabriel deeper into his throat.

“It’s as good as a leash,” Crowley mocked.

Crowley crawled off the bed and, naked, sat on a nice plush chair he’d pulled up to the side. He spread out his thighs so Gabriel and Aziraphale had the perfect view of his erection, and then, he began to stroke himself. He dug his left hand into the arm of the chair and leaned his head into the cushions as he gripped himself, squeezed right at the base and let out breathless moans. It’d taken only a moment for Gabriel’s eyes to be on him instead of Aziraphale. Only a moment more for Gabriel’s hips to start bucking.

“Gabriel,” Crowley groaned. “My perfect puppy—don’t you want this? Don’t you want to feel my cock inside of you?”

Gabriel was looking at him, pupils blown. His hips twitched. Each small jolt had him pulling back just a little farther, and that terrified Aziraphale. He closed his eyes tight and gripped the chains, trying to brace himself for whatever would happen next.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Crowley gasped, stroking himself from base to tip. He squeezed right along the ridge of his cockhead before swiping his thumb over his slit, his hips jolting with the feeling. “ _Gabriel_ —”

Just one more moan of his name, and nothing could stop Gabriel. Nothing could prepare Aziraphale for it, either, when Gabriel suddenly wrenched back and yanked that thick knot right out of his mouth. Aziraphale’s lips split right apart, tearing open to accommodate the thickness that passed through them. He _screamed_ but was left forgotten as Gabriel scrambled over to the chair. Gabriel sank down over Crowley’s cock in one fell motion, making himself comfortable in Crowley’s lap.

Gabriel leaned forward into Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley took hold of Gabriel’s hips to help him move. They rutted together, groaning and losing themselves in the new, hot pleasure. Aziraphale couldn’t help but roll his head to the side, just to see. What he saw made him sick—Crowley smirking over Gabriel’s shoulder and reaching around him to peel apart his cheeks. He wanted Aziraphale to _see_ it, the way Gabriel rutted down onto the thick of Crowley’s cock.

“You want this,” Crowley muttered. “But you don’t deserve it.”

Aziraphale shuddered. Maybe he did want it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even as Crowley leaned back and was entirely obscured by the arch of Gabriel’s back, the hunch of his shoulders. Gabriel’s head was hung down low enough that Aziraphale couldn’t see more than a peak of black hair as he bounced, impaled himself over and over on Crowley’s cock. For a moment, Aziraphale even dared to imagine himself in that place. Crowley’s fledgling. A helpless, mindless beast with only one desire—to serve a master.

The next time Aziraphale woke up, it was to the sound of clinking chains. Crowley was straddling his chest, leaning over him and _unlocking_ the chains around his wrists. Crowley was also fully dressed, but in a way that said he really didn’t have many intentions of going out. He was wearing dark wash jeans and a buttoned-up flannel shirt, quite comfortable. Everything was loose, casual. It was a step down from the way he’d been dressing, and that meant that Aziraphale wasn’t about to face another night of _that_.

He waited patiently until Crowley was done with the chains, and then until Crowley was off the bed. Aziraphale tried, all at once, to jolt up and _run_ , but his body ached in such a way that all he could manage was to sit up and cry out as his joints popped and wounds ripped back open. There was so much blood.

“Good to see you’ve got the spirit,” Crowley said. “You’re going to need it.”

“What’s happening to me?” Aziraphale said, but his voice was hoarse, nothing more than a whisper, and the sounds came out wrong with no teeth to press against.

“Nothing you won’t like, I promise.” Crowley held out his hand, waiting for Aziraphale to take it. Aziraphale was already crying, the pain too much to bear, but he took Crowley’s hand.

Crowley helped him out of the bed like he _cared_. Then, they went up the stairs as slow as Aziraphale needed. His legs barely worked. Everything was nothing but a giant fireball of pain. Still, he managed up the stairs. Then, he thought they’d turn to the right, where the front door was. They didn’t. Crowley directed him to the left.

“Do you know what tonight is?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shook his head. The moment Crowley opened the door, Aziraphale knew _exactly_ what tonight was.

It was dark outside; the sky was clear, full of stars, and a bright full moon was hanging overhead. That wasn’t what caught Aziraphale’s attention. It was Gabriel, writhing naked in the grass just to the left of the staircase down into the yard. He didn’t look human, anymore. There was coarse, rough hair spouting from every inch of visible skin. His legs were distorted, changing shape. His arms looked broken and mangled. On his head were distinctly different ears.

“I bet you’re thinking, _oh, it_ _’s a full moon.”_ Crowley laughed. “You’re not entirely wrong, but I would like to warn you of something they don’t explain about werewolves in the silly little books you read.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley.

“They like _meat_ ,” Crowley spat. “That one,” he said, pointing down to Gabriel, “likes human meat. He was raised on it. Fed it from the time he was a pup. I feed it to him now.”

Aziraphale’s skin suddenly went cold. His heart began to race. His eyes went wide.

“It’s a small price to pay to taste his blood. I never liked humans much, anyway. He’s a special case though, my Gabriel.”

Gabriel cried out in a shriek of pain as his transformation continued. That was Crowley’s cue to finish it up.

“He’s a hunter. Big, strong wolf. Run fast, little angel,” Crowley urged. He pushed Aziraphale forward, tumbling down the steps with another shout of pain. “If you go straight through the forest, there’s a road on the other side. You make it there, you win. Gabriel doesn’t like the roads. You don’t, well—” Crowley shrugged. “It’s my clean-up duty.”

Crowley stepped back into the house, and Aziraphale heard the door lock. His mind was racing, his heart was pounding. To the left of him, Gabriel’s transformation was nearly complete. To the front of him was the expansive forest he had to somehow make it through. His entire bough was wrought with pain, _ached_ as he pulled himself up to his feet. He was naked, bleeding, and exhausted. His legs weren’t in order. There was a burning pain that spread through his entire lower half.

He had no choice. With the adrenaline pumping through his veins, Aziraphale started to hobble. Then, he started to run. Every movement was a pain he forced himself to make, because he had to. If he could get out of this forest, he’d be free. He could go to a hospital. They’d fix him. He’d never tell anyone about what he found here—he’d move out of town. He’d change his name, dye his hair, and find a new profession. He’d do anything he could to forget this had ever happened and move on with his life.

That was the future he ran to. Anything was better than this. Anything was better than what he’d just gone through, even the pain in his legs and his feet as he ran over sticks and stones. He clambered over fallen trees, around sharp shrubs and over mushroom patches. He thought he was doing good. He thought he was going to _make it_ , until there was a loud, growling behind him. A tearing through the underbrush that sounded like no animal Aziraphale had ever seen before.

Behind him, as Aziraphale dared to look, he saw nothing. He kept running. He tried to run faster, if it were possible. Nothing seemed possible, anymore, but he kept going. The snarling came closer, in time with the beat of Aziraphale’s heart as he ran. Every growl was another dash of hope that Aziraphale lost. He wouldn’t make it. He wasn’t going to make it out of this forest. That _monster_ was going to catch him, drag him back to the house, and they were going to make a toy out of him—string him up from the ceiling without useful limbs and fuck him at their own leisure. No one would ever find him. No one would even care.

Aziraphale just tried to run faster. He tried to push through the pain, the despair. He could still hear the growling come closer. The snarling. The _anger_. He dared look back over his shoulder again, and this time, he saw a monster. He saw the wolf that Gabriel had become, with glowing purple eyes, and salt and pepper coat, and huge, sharp teeth. He looked like a wolf, just three times the size. More volatile than a real wolf ever could be. More deformed, with his snarls and scars and limbs that meant he could walk on two legs if he wanted.

Aziraphale ran. He ran. His heart thumped in the back of his skull, and he _ran_. He couldn’t run fast enough. He hadn’t eaten in three days. He was starved, dehydrated, and wounded. Bleeding. Gabriel could follow the smell of his blood—there was nowhere for him to hide. Nowhere for him to go. He lost. He lost in all the ways he hadn’t prepared himself for when Gabriel caught him, tackled him to the ground.

Gabriel didn’t bite him by the leg and drag him back to the house. It was worse. It was so much worse, and all Aziraphale could do was _scream_. Gabriel’s teeth dug into his neck, forcing his face into the dirt as he was mounted. Gabriel’s thick, slimy cock worked into his abused hole, and Gabriel fucked him with all of the strength of a wild, rabid animal. This wasn’t a man’s cock, either. This was a wolf’s cock, long and strange and reaching deeper inside of Aziraphale than he’d ever thought possible.

He cried, a mouthful of dirt, and tried to scramble away. He had no nails to dig with. He had no strength to fight with. He had no teeth to thrash with. He had nothing. He _was_ nothing. He was face down in the mud with a wild animal on top of him, cock inside of him, fucking him like he was nothing but a useless, helpless bitch, and he _was_. Aziraphale whimpered, going limp. Trying just to take it. Hoping it would be over soon. That Gabriel’s teeth would loosen up, and Gabriel _would_ just drag him back to the house.

It was the last thing Aziraphale ever did—hope for something better. Gabriel’s jaw didn’t loosen or release. Instead, he cracked down hard enough to snap Aziraphale’s neck. Then, Aziraphale really did go limp. His body fell flat against the ground, his eyes dead. His breath left him as Gabriel came inside of him, and then it was just _work_. Gabriel had to tear him apart while the meat was still _fresh,_ and blood was still flowing.

It was about three in the morning when Crowley finally decided he’d take a trek through the woods. He didn’t bother with a jacket or a light, just stepped right outside and trotted down the back steps. The forest was before him, and he took a walk.

Their forest was always peaceful. It’d been quiet since they’d moved into this little cottage, some century or so ago. It was difficult to live so close to civilization, but it made the hunts easier and more exciting. The risk was worth it, especially for this little forest. Animals and werewolves didn’t get along so well, so Gabriel’s presence kept the forest clear of things that might cause _problems_. Having an empty forest also meant hunters wouldn’t be around, looking for a meal. It meant they were safe.

Crowley used most of his energy to tend to the garden out in front. He grew flowers. Beautiful red flowers that bloomed in the sunlight and needed to be replanted every spring. He loved the work. He reveled in it. On days he was feeling particularly good, he worked in the forest. He would trim dead branches or clear away patches of unwanted flowers and shrubs. He moved fallen trees so they could rot in the places that needed the help. In return, they had plenty of fresh mushrooms to pick from.

It also meant Crowley was intimately familiar with the layout of the forest. Though, really, anyone with an eye could have found what he found. A severed arm out of place, with peeled away fingernails and deep, gnashing bite marks by the wrist. It was just a forearm; Crowley shook his head and clicked his tongue.

“You’re getting sloppy,” he muttered, leaning down to pick up the arm. “Why do I agree to do this? Disgusting.” He held the arm up by the hand, watching as nothing but congealing blood and _nastiness_ dripped from it. Nothing even left for him.

Crowley continued his trek through the woods, swinging the severed arm as he went. He knew he should have brought a bag when he came across a discarded liver. Gabriel really was a picky eater, but Crowley was too fond to really care. Whatever Gabriel wouldn’t eat raw, Crowley could find a way to cook it for him. Make it presentable. Gabriel didn’t just eat the meat on the nights he transformed. He was happy to do it whenever, so long as Crowley prepared it. He always got these puppy eyes and told Crowley what a good cook he was.

Crowley was whipped, and he knew it. With an arm in one hand and a dirt-covered liver in the other, Crowley kept walking. It didn’t take long after that to find Gabriel and the rest of the body. He’d gotten most of it torn up, but it was all in the same area, at least. As Crowley approached him, Gabriel was snout deep between broken ribs, trying to gnaw out the lungs.

“You’re disgusting,” Crowley said, throwing down his finds. “You’re making a mess; do you know that? I have to clean this up.”

Gabriel, who was nearly almost always perfectly aware of himself once the transformation settled in, perked up and turned to face Crowley. Then, with a disjointed, whimper he went back to nosing at the body.

Crowley grumbled. “Really? I spoil you—I spoil you! This is ridiculous.” He stomped across the little clearing and squatted beside the body. With one big huff, Crowley jabbed his arm inside and felt around until he got a tight grip on the first lung. Then, with a feat of strength, ripped it right from of the body and plopped it on the ground in front of Gabriel.

“Get your own dinner,” Crowley sneered. “I’m not the butcher. I’m the chef—”

Gabriel leaned in and licked Crowley’s cheek before nosing at him. Crowley looked so unimpressed that it wasn’t even funny, so Gabriel kept it up. He nuzzled into Crowley, trying at his neck, at his chest, until he was nosing along the outline of Crowley’s crotch. Then, only because he was exasperatedly fond, Crowley rumbled the fur right at Gabriel’s neck, giving him a nice scratch.

“I hate you,” Crowley said. “You’re a big fucking baby is what you are. Don’t worry, don’t worry—I’ll clean up. Just—finish your dinner, babe.” He leaned over to give Gabriel’s head a soft peck.

Crowley stood up then, ready to go back to the house until Gabriel was done. He didn’t so much as get to turn around before he was watching Gabriel curiously. Gabriel trotted around the lung Crowley had given him, coming around to the front of it—between it and Crowley. He still had every intention of _eating_ , but there was always something more Gabriel wanted under a full moon. He made it quite clear as he bowed the front half of his body, swishing up his mangled and bloodied tail, as well.

Crowley’s eyes went wide, but then he smirked. “You’re serious?” He asked. Gabriel had just _presented_ himself for Crowley. His puckered little hole was right there on display, ripe for Crowley to take. Gabriel didn’t need preparation in this form—he just needed a cock.

Gabriel bowed his head down lower and almost _whimpered_.

“God,” Crowley groaned. “God, you’re a fucking slut. I fuck you for three days straight. I get you a new toy, perfectly tailored for you to _fuck._ It’s still not enough, is it?”

Gabriel looked back over his shoulder, the best that he could.

“Oh, I get it.” Crowley walked closer. “Deferring to your master, aren’t you? Yes,” he hummed, stroking through Gabriel’s fur. “Now that I’m here, it wouldn’t be right for you to continue. The alpha _always_ goes first, and you’re no alpha, are you?”

Gabriel whimpered again, bowing his head back into the ground.

Crowley grinned. “Why do I spoil you so badly? Fuck.” He laughed to himself, wiping the blood and the dirt off on his trousers before he started to undo them. “You can eat, love. I know you’re hungry. I’ll take care of you—you know I always do.”

He swore he could almost see Gabriel _tremble_ at the words. Gabriel started to eat, though, devouring the lung in front of him while Crowley worked his cock out of his trousers. Crowley stroked himself, closing his eyes and breathing in that hot, musky scent Gabriel had as a wolf. He looked so big and scary, but Gabriel was always ready to bend himself over and submit. He didn’t look the type, but he was. Crowley got off on it, on the games that they played. One in particular always got them both going faster.

“I’m going to fucking _breed_ you,” Crowley spat. “Fuck you so hard that you have no choice but carry my kid, yeah? I know you’d like that, fucking slut that you are. Omegas can have kids, can’t they?” He snorted to himself. He stroked his cock once more before pressing forward.

Gabriel growled as Crowley breached him, sunk right into him until their hips were pressed together. Even in this form, Gabriel was _desperate_ to be filled, and Crowley still filled him so well. Gabriel was silky and hot around him, a nice perfect place for Crowley to sink his cock and just fuck. He could go harder when Gabriel was like this. He could hold him with a bone-crushing grip, and he wouldn’t shatter. This Gabriel could handle whatever Crowley had to give to him, and Crowley gave it to him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Crowley hissed. “We’re going on a hunt, next time. Going to find you some _beautiful_ werewolf bitch to fuck when you transform next—shit,” he cried out as Gabriel clenched around him. He felt so _different_ like this, around Crowley’s cock. Crowley couldn’t get enough.

“I’ll tie her to a goddamn post,” Crowley said. “Have you fuck her cunt for however long it takes to get her pregnant. Then we get _my_ baby. When she gives me _my_ baby, I’ll cut her lose and let you chase her back down and rip her apart. Dinner. First good meal—new pups need good first meals, don’t they?”

Gabriel howled, his hips working back to meet Crowley’s bruising thrusts. Crowley grabbed him by the tail to wrench him back, to fuck him harder. Gabriel just crumpled under the rough touch. He whimpered again and again as Crowley fucked him deeper and deeper. Crowley’s knees were going weak, but he didn’t _stop_ until Gabriel was clenching tight around him. That _heat_ he had. Gabriel was wet and scorching, silky smooth—the perfect fuck hole.

Crowley lost himself in it, in the feeling of Gabriel around him. _Giving_ himself to Crowley, so willingly. Crowley would take him in any form. It was Gabriel. It was Gabriel begging for this, showing himself off for it. He wanted it. Gabriel _wanted_ Crowley in every form.

“Fuck,” Crowley groaned, again. “Fuck, Gabriel— _my_ perfect Gabriel. _Fuck_.” He bent over Gabriel’s back, gripping into his coarse fur. His rhythm was faltering already. It didn’t take more than another thrust for Crowley to come, and he cried out with it.

His hips stuttered as he filled Gabriel right up. Always more. Never quite enough. Crowley was spent, and when he pulled back, it was to fall back down into the grass and try to catch his breath. He watched as Gabriel bent in half, trying to wind around himself to lick at his swollen entrance. He was dripping in Crowley’s spend, and he wanted to taste it. Crowley just watched, enamored.

“Come here,” Crowley said.

Gabriel did exactly as he was told. He came to stand over Crowley’s lap, and then suddenly whimpered when Crowley took a hold of his sensitive, thick cock.

“Did you think I was just going to use you?” Crowley hummed, resting his face against Gabriel’s hide. “Why is my perfect puppy such a stupid mutt?” He started to stroke Gabriel’s cock, and Gabriel’s body trembled with the touch. With his free hand, Crowley pet Gabriel’s soft, bloodied fur.

“Come for me,” Crowley said. “Show me how good you feel, and then you can eat. You can finish your meal, I’ll clean up the mess, and then we can do whatever you want. Stay in this form until the sun comes up and let me fuck you on my fingers. Let me work my tongue into you, feel the way you tremble. I’ll tie you down to the breeding stand and fuck you until you’re human, and then I’ll take you until you’re begging for me to stop.”

Gabriel howled with his orgasm, Crowley’s promises going straight to his cock. His whole, massive body trembled as he came, and his legs nearly gave out from under him. Crowley wormed his way out from under Gabriel and stood up to wrap his arms around Gabriel’s neck and hold him close, for just a moment.

“Anything you want,” Crowley whispered. “You know I’ll take care of you. Now,” he pulled back, giving Gabriel a hard swat to the arse, “go eat. Puppies have to eat.”

Gabriel barked at him, growled, but turned right back to the mess of limbs and skin he’d made. Gabriel was ravenous, and instead of leaving, Crowley just sat down against a tree to watch. It was oddly peaceful. While he waited, Crowley could start planning for _next time._ It’d been awhile since they’d had a long-term guest. If that guest were going to be another werewolf, they’d have to be clever. They’d have to take her without being caught, and they’d have to hide her until she gave them a pup or two.

That also meant Crowley would have to take _two_. Werewolves only ever got pregnant during their transformations—they were born as wolves. That’s what Gabriel told him. Both Gabriel and their new lady friend would need something to eat, and there wasn’t anything Crowley wasn’t willing to do for Gabriel. He smiled to himself, happily content to watch Gabriel eat and think of how they’d go about the next transformation. It was going to be _fun_.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏 Froge Bounces 𓆏  
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> 


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